Her Best Friend's Husband. Justine Davis
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making the shift from contemplating flat abs and the appeal of back pockets to the mundane question.
“What?”
“It’s warm here, but it’ll be cooler up in the mountains. It’s only March, and it might be in the forties or so. Could even still be snow around.”
“Oh. No, I don’t.”
She felt even more foolish now; she should have realized a man like Gabe wouldn’t waste any time, but would want to do whatever could be done and do it now. She should have come prepared.
He turned and walked back down the hallway he’d apparently come out of. She had a moment to appreciate the view, but quickly made herself turn away, not wanting to get caught gaping at him.
But when he came back and tossed her a soft, fleecy sort of zipper jacket that had the Redstone logo embroidered on the front, it was something else that sent her reeling; it was his. She knew it was, because she could smell the faintest trace of the clean-scented aftershave she’d always associated with him.
God, you’re hopeless!
She’d meant to chide herself out of her stupid meanderings, but instead it sounded, even in her head, pitiful.
“I meant to ask,” she said hastily as she resisted lifting the jacket to her face for a deeper breath, “you were wearing the same thing as the rest of the crew. No special uniform for the captain?”
His mouth quirked. “Yeah. I get to wear a ball cap with the boat’s silhouette stitched on it.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, no scrambled eggs.”
He remembers, Cara thought with a start. He actually remembers.
It was one of her most vivid memories, that day when he’d sailed out and she’d gone with Hope to see him off. It had been only the second or third time she’d met the new man in Hope’s life. He’d been wearing one version—she hadn’t known there were so many kinds—of a dress uniform and in her ignorance of things military, she’d asked him what all the gold on his visor was.
He’d grinned at her, and explained. And she’d promptly fallen for him.
And apparently she’d never gotten around to standing up again.
“Seat belt,” Gabe said absently.
“Got it.”
Cara shifted in the seat of the low-slung coupe; the Lexus was a nice change from her little compact, and it was pure luxury to be able to completely stretch out her legs. They had decided, since he knew how to get to where they were going, that he’d drive. Once she’d seen the sleek, dark blue car, she was glad she had agreed. She wondered if he had trouble with other cars, as tall as he was.
“Nice car,” she said now. “Redstone pays well, obviously.” She’d heard that anyway, but it was hard not to comment on it when she was sitting in the evidence.
“It does,” Gabe said. “But it’s not just that. There’s another, financial benefit to working for Redstone.”
“What’s that?”
“Mac McClaren.”
Cara’s brows shot up. “The gazillionaire treasure hunter?”
“And the guy who gave Josh his start, when all he had was a pilot’s license, a design in his head and a dream. That Spanish galleon he found helped build the foundation of Redstone.” Gabe smiled. “Of course, he’s pouring money into his wife’s pet cause now. There are a lot of homeless animals eating better these days.”
“I didn’t realize he was connected to Redstone.”
“Most people don’t. But the man’s a lot more than a treasure hunter. He did that mainly to prove his father had been right about where that ship had gone down. He’s also a financial genius, and he’s at the disposal of anybody who works for Redstone. Including—” he gestured at the interior of the car, the rich leather, the polished wood “—me.”
“Nice perk,” she said.
“One of the benefits of working for a guy who makes friends for life,” Gabe said.
She looked at him curiously. “Is he? A friend, I mean? Is that how you ended up there?”
“He is now,” Gabe said, “but I didn’t even know him when he offered me my first job at Redstone.”
“How’d that happen?” she asked, intrigued now. “It’s not like you see advertisements for them.”
He chuckled. “No, Josh doesn’t have to advertise. People are lined up literally around the world wanting to work for him.”
She noticed he hadn’t actually answered her. “So, how?” she persisted.
When he hesitated, then let out a compressed breath, she knew she hadn’t imagined that he had been dodging her question.
“He’d read about the…incident that made me quit the navy. He was angry. Asked some of those friends he has about it, friends in or with connections to the military. My name came up.”
There was a flatness in his tone that made her remember their earlier conversation.
I never thought you’d give in to her…whining.
Is that what you think? That I quit because my wife nagged me into it?
“Why did you really quit, Gabe?”
“Hope, remember?” She’d irritated him now. Or he was still irritated by her earlier assumption.
“Hope was…a very social person,” she began, needing to say something, anything.
“Yes,” Gabe acknowledged. “And she needed someone who could be there for that kind of thing, social occasions. I couldn’t give her that, not the way she wanted.”
“But…she knew that, going in. She had to.”
“She thought she could deal with it.” He lifted a hand from the polished mahogany steering wheel to the back of his neck, rubbed as if it were aching. “She couldn’t. Long deployments take a huge toll. It takes an incredibly strong person to be a military spouse, in the best of times.”
“I can only imagine,” she said softly.
And strong was not a word Cara would use to describe Hope. Beautiful, vivacious, energetic, impulsive, yes, but strong? No. Not when she remembered all the seemingly endless phone calls where Hope had whined—not a flattering word, but the only one that really fit—about her husband’s absence. As if he had chosen to leave, as if he’d abandoned her intentionally.
He lapsed into silence, apparently focused on driving although traffic was light. She waited, and when they’d pulled to a halt at a stop light, quietly asked again.
“Why did you really quit?”
He turned his head. Her breath stopped in her chest. She’d never seen him look this way before. He’d always seemed intense to her, but there was something in his eyes now that made her almost afraid to move.
It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing; there was more of the military officer left in Gabriel Taggert than she’d thought. This was the kind of man who did what others were afraid to, who knew things, did things, went places the average person going about their comfortable life never had to think about, precisely because there were men like Gabe in the world, willing and able to do it for them.
It was only with great effort that she managed not to look away from that fierce gaze.
“I quit,” he said in measured tones that hinted at a lingering anger, “after twenty-three good, honest, heroic people died because some politicians—” he snarled the word “—decided it would upset the balance of power